


Ars Moriendi

by Calendar



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Action, Deaf Character, Drug Use, F/M, Gore, Horror, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, War is hell, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-05-25 21:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14986094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calendar/pseuds/Calendar
Summary: Hell is empty, and all the devils are here. One of them just stands out from the rest.





	1. A Pain in the Ars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a life is shaken by some errant, secret government sect, it is, understandably, a pain in the ars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pain in the ass: A person/ thing that is extremely annoying or inconvenient.
> 
> Comment, kudo, message, idk. Most importantly, please enjoy :)
> 
> postspamum.tumblr.com

It had been a shitty day.

First, her bag broke. Her brand new, months-of-paychecks bag. Totally bullshit. She’d got it in her favorite color and everything.

Then the Tube was late, which, if she was being honest, she should expect by now. Really, she’d been taking it for long enough- though travelling through the city be herself so late at night always made her jumpy.

Finally, and probably most importantly, she supposed, was the explosion that had rocked the car she was sat in, and had turned off all the lights and stopped her ride home. She was, simply put, pissed. She and the gaggle of inebriated teenagers that resided in the car all grasped the sides and handrails in surprise, the two female teens screeching and their three male counterparts shouting their respective curses. She, personally, clung to the sides and grit her teeth, waiting for the rocking to subside before daring to move. She wasn’t much of a screamer.

It was eerie and tense in the drab car, the teens twittering and yelling with a nervous energy that she was definitively not a fan of. She knew people did shitty things in shitty situations. Her now-broken bag was heavy with all the class work she had yet to finish, and as she hefted it higher onto her shoulder and began to stand, the boys in the corner sprung up and towards her.

Time froze. Time froze as her heart leapt into her throat and she strangled out a gasp, freezing in place and tightening her grasp on her bag, chipped nail polish glossy against the reds of her fists. Time froze and all she heard was her heartbeat in her ears, panic taking control of her swiftly and without mercy—  _should have paid more attention to the kids, should have been prepared, should’ve, fuck_ —

But she released her breath in a shaky sigh as they rushed past her to start clawing at the doors, spitting and cursing and tugging at the jammed glass with vigor as they attempted to pry it open. Her fists released and she shuddered- this wasn’t the first time she jumped at nothing, and she knew that it wouldn’t be her last.

Her nerves were shot for the evening, she realized, rubbing her bleary eyes before standing, this time to her full height of, well, nothing particularly impressive. She bypassed the teens at the doors to pull the emergency latch and pop the glass out of the window, allowing in a rush of strangely ashy air, and stepped back for the gaggle of teens to scurry past her first and scramble out of the car and into the darkness of the seemingly abandoned station.

Carefully, she pulled herself out of the car and onto the station ground, cracking her back when she stood and grimacing plainly. Guess she was walking home tonight- which was just peachy, and par for the course of her otherwise shitty day.

She started on her way out of the station, pulling her cream, over-sized knit sweater tighter around herself like a security blanket. She didn’t even bother to suppress her shiver as she took notice of her surroundings: a now abandoned, dank station with low-lying fog, a cold front, and the strange smell of what she was imaging, and surely, it was just her imagination- as the residue after a fire fight. She sniffed sharply and rubbed her nose, scrunching her face as she gingerly took a step outside and— and—

Straight into Hell.

There were people- no, these were corpses- everywhere, an immense pond of blood forming between the bodies with multiple holes in their flesh, denoting what seemed more like low-grade explosive attacks than gunshot wounds.

Her muscles froze, eyes widened, and the only thing she could hear were the screams—  _stop the screams please I’ll do anything just stop them please please_ — and her body unfortunately made the choice for her.

The rest of the scene played out in her head like a black and white movie, where she was watching the world through a screen rather than being in control of her own actions. She felt her eyes scrape over the decimated London street, spotting, immediately a handful of yards in front of her, a man with graying hair grasping his spraying jugular, back arching as blood bubbled and gurgled wildly out of his mouth.

As the passenger to panic in her own body, she felt herself move forward and immediately position herself over the gaping man—  _not a just man, it’s father it’s always father how could you just let him die like that do something anything move move move!!_ — and clasped her hands immediately over his wound firmly, the immense wave of screams still echoing, ringing in her head.

The man jerked and his lips began to form different syllables, but were soundless as she shushed him softly, eyes darting over his face and for any other notable signs of trauma— _even if I can just save one I have to otherwise it’s worthless I’m worthless why me why_ —

While she was scanning the area once more, her frantic gaze traveled onto another man in fatigues, running towards her.

Their eyes caught, mirroring each other, a stagnant pause between them as the man stopped running a few yards away. Friend or foe? 

It was then that a wave of practiced men in fatigues rushed over to the scene, tagging bodies and working with efficiency, while a different group lifted her and the man she was perched on top of onto a gurney and wheeled them quickly over into an ambulance. Friend, then.  ~~~~

She honestly, and embarrassingly enough, only noticed that she was being moved when the gurney they were slid onto squeaked under her, the wet of the blood making painful squelching noises under her. Still, she looked towards the young man, desperate, hoping.

The staring contest was cut off when the doors closed, only staying open long enough to allow the gurney, two medics in fatigues, and an abnormally large, black dog—  _no it’s a demon it’s a Hell Hound here to reap your soul and there’s nothing you can do you monster you monster_ — before the ambulance rushed off. She chanted in her head that it was just her imagination- this wasn’t the first time she had seen things. For if this creature honestly existed in front of her, God really had abandoned Earth.

She tried to focus once more on the now-unconscious man under her hands, her body staying tense throughout the ride. Hoping, praying that perhaps if she didn’t look at the black mass of writhing shadows in the corner of the ambulance, perhaps it wouldn’t notice her, or the tears freely flowing down her face.

“Captain” was the only word she caught on the ride from a blood-soaked patch on the man’s lapel during the endless transport, the bumps and sharp turns surprisingly not the most uncomfortable part of the trip.

She was sure that the medics were attempting to talk to her, but her mind was in a fog and she couldn’t focus over the continuous roar of adrenaline-infused blood in her ears, or the screaming in her head that she wasn’t sure was totally in her imagination. She also suspected that her surely-imaginary Hell Hound in the far corner licked its thin lips while staring at her with its numerous, devilish red eyes, so she focused on holding on tight as the bus sped through the night’s streets and to God knows where.

The ambulance finally, mercifully came to a stop and the movement from the outside to the inside of the—  _holy fuck is this a fucking mansion_ — building into the maze of hallways was smooth, and ended in some sort of operating room.

A crowd of surgeons, nurses and techs crowded the unconscious man under her as they were moved to a table, sterile staff at the ready.

Another old man with wrinkled eyes and pure white hair approached her, hands folded in front of him to maintain his sterility and mask neatly placed over his mouth.

His voice barely reached her, sounding like he was attempting to talk to her through a pillow. She had no idea what he was saying, truly, but allowed her body to be quickly lifted and removed from the suite as they transferred pressure on the wounds from her hands to something else.

That’s when she came back to her body, on the other side of the observation glass, eyes blank as she slid down the wall and clutched her head, taking in a shaky breath. She wondered when the screaming would subside. She wondered when she could stop seeing Hell Hounds and corpses and rivers of blood. She wondered, ruby red hands digging into her dark brown hair, streaking and dying the tresses as she pulled. She wondered.

She felt a short rush of air, much like a snort, on her scalp. Her eyes flickered up to meet one of the—  _holy shit how many eyes did this Demon have_ — pairs of eyes of the large, black dog. She flinched violently, holding still and fighting her instincts to run, or fight, or breathe. She wasn’t able to hold back the weak whimper when she felt a tongue, simultaneously hot as Hell and cold as a corpse, lave over the back of her bloody hands. She tensed further. It had never touched her before.

The Hound— _this isn’t real, breathe, you asshole, breathe_ — sniffed at her a bit more, before turning its back on her and trudging to the other side of the hall. She didn’t hesitate in scrambling away, sore muscles screaming in protest as she tensed, lips parting in a sudden gasp. But before she could descend back into newly restored panic, the demon sat itself across the hall from her, maintaining eye contact and gracefully lying its shadowy, writhing form on the ground. As it sunk further, crossing its large black paws daintily and placing its large head on its arms, its lips curled in a wicked grin—  _what a fucked up thing_.

She didn’t even begin to relax, even when the dog wasn’t moving, its many eyes closing lazily before one peaked open, shining with amusement and a lazy interest. Her muscles convulsed, weak and demanding a rest, before they began to relax finally—  _the creature was almost cute like this, looks like Blackie did when she was sunbathing in Bangladesh, what a fucked up comparison_ — before it let out a great yawn, showing its many, shark-like teeth, letting its long pink tongue loll out of its terrifying maw. Yet she didn’t bat an eye, her body eventually just giving up her terror in favor of exhaustion. Surely it would have rended her limb from limb already if it intended to.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, defeated and in silence with her new compatriot, head in her bloody hands and Death Incarnate across from her. She didn’t move her eyes off the Thing, partaking in another stare down, tear tracks renewed on her cheeks. Her eyes only shifted off of it when its own many pairs opened again and looked down the hallway.

Her head slowly rose to have her eyes meet those of a woman. A woman, blonde, smoking a cigar with a taller, lither, older man in a vest and slacks behind her, placing a lighter back in his pocket stood before her, both looking decidedly bemused.

She also though she heard some sort of questioning tone, but missed the words in their entirety.

She assumed they repeated it as her eyes slid over the blonde’s lips.

She let out a weak, half-hearted rasp of a laugh before her hands flickered into the air in a pattern of movements and gestures.

The blonde woman’s eyes widened, then settled again as she started—  _laughing? Probably_ — in what seemed to be disbelief.

On the ground, the dark, curly haired woman paused her signing, wiping at her face and leaving angry red streaks across her cheeks, as if resetting herself. There was a thick pause before she hiccupped a watery laugh.

“I’m sure you’re- you wanna know my name,” she sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve roughly, “Elisa. I’m- Please don’t kill me,” was she yelling? She really hoped not. That’d be embarrassing.

Another pause. Her stained hand slid from her mouth to her ear.

“I’m- sorry, I can’t hear you. I’m deaf.”


	2. Ars Over Teakettle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroine struggles and falls, Ars Over Teakettle, and into a certain vampire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ass over teakettle: to be flipped upside down; head over heels. 
> 
>  
> 
> Hey remember when I maybe mentioned bi-weekly updates? I'm a liar. But I'm doing my best, gosh darnit. Also, yes, every chapter title will be based on some sort of ass-based idiom. No, I am not sorry, and no, I will not stop.
> 
> Enjoy!

"Hell-sing? Hell-sing. Hellsing. He’ll sing- hi I’ll sing. Hellsing,” Elisa muttered to herself, scrubbing the blood out from under her nails with a bar of soap. She stopped to look up at herself in the mirror, bracing herself on the porcelain of the sink with raw hands. What a fucked up night, and it was only two thirty.

Through a lot of writing and one-sided conversation, Elisa found herself in one of Britain’s most covert special task force’s base, after a vampire attack that had almost claimed the life of one of Hellsing’s most senior officers. Thanks to her bravery- foolishness, she insisted- he had a fighting chance in the operating room. So now she was cleaning herself up so she didn’t look like an absolute monster when she went back to her flat, rubbing her face and hands until they stung and shined. She had so many questions she wanted to ask Sir Integral, whom she realized was actually about ten years her junior, but commanded the attention of the room like she was The Queen herself.

Terrifying, but not unlike anyone Elisa had ever met. In fact, the head of Hellsing reminded her of a myriad of women that had influenced her in the past. It was almost comforting. Almost.

She had tried to wipe the blood off her face, hands, arms, clothes, hair- the list was never ending. By the time she was finished, she looked less like a corpse and more like a dirty football player. The bright red had faded to a dull brown, but was too stubborn to disappear totally. Her short, curly black hair was mussed, sticking up here and there. Light brown skin reflected her mixed roots- she could see her mother in the tan of her skin, and her father in the lighter side of her complexion and slight smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Though her face was never particularly round, the years of stress certainly showed in the slight wrinkles around her eyes and the circles that lightly lined her gaze. She tried to straighten up her oversized sweater as much as she could, but the stains were still notable. It would have to do.

She trudged out of the would-be beautiful, sparkling washroom, having stained the floors and sink with the ruby red of the man she would probably never truly meet.

She rubbed her nose on her wrist, scrunching her face uncomfortably. Her skin felt as raw her nerves, and she just wanted to go home. So, once she was brought by the butler back to the Head Hellsing, she said so.

“I want to go home,” she was never good with mincing words. Sir Integral looked decidedly amused. Elisa felt much like a dancing monkey whenever she was in front of her new compatriot. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it, honestly.

“Also- wait, shit- I mean shoot, fuck- sorry, again, but I lost my bag, with my hearing aids, so I don’t think a real conversation is gonna be possible,” she stuttered out, getting frustrated all over again. It was a new bag, too. Had she mentioned that? “It was new,” she groused under her breath.

Sir Hellsing’s body began to quake, and Elisa swore that the stern woman in front of her was chuckling. The curly haired woman’s face twisted sourly, as if she had eaten a kumquat- she had the distinct feeling this woman thought she was being comical in her frustration. That made it worse, really.

The blonde opposite of her motioned towards the butler once more and waited patiently. The two women simply eyed each other in silence, or what Elisa hoped was silence. She had no idea what or why they were waiting, and was about to ask when the butler returned with a familiar looking lump.

She swore she felt her eyes light up. With her bag returned to her, broken strap and all, she rooted through her piles of texts and wrappers for a small, ovular disk. Popping it open with a renewed look of disdain on her face, she grabbed two chunky buds connected to wires and larger plastic column that sat behind her ear. She fidgeted for a moment, and with a loud whine from the devices and a wince from the woman, she settled back again with a decidedly grumpier expression.

“They’re expensive,” she explained simply.

“Miss Saif, we appreciate that you must want to return to your home, but we must ensure that this information can be handled appropriately. We can’t exactly stay covert if we’re the talk of London,” the blonde explained, voice raised and cigar freshly lit.

As much as Elisa hated her hearing aids, they did make discussing her future a little more manageable in the land of the hearing. Still, she frowned, concentrating on the woman in front of her.

“I’m not quite sure how to express my lack of interest in spreading any gossip about anything pertaining to your lovely government operation,” she groused, disinterested and frustrated all at once. Now that there was no threat, she felt it appropriate to express her displeasure. “Look, Sir, I’m sorry I saw the inside of your house, I’m sorry a civilian ended up mixed up with all this, and I’m sorry that you feel like my presence here is somehow a threat to you and yours. I really just want to go home. I have an early morning, I have work, I have classes, and a-“

“Sir!”

Elisa frowned and winced. Too loud, too sudden. The soldier who had come in to interrupt them saluted, standing at the ready with his cap under his opposite arm.

“What is it, Captain?” Sir Integral stayed straight faced, unperturbed by the appearance.

“We’ve gotten new reports of similar targets that have just appeared; they’ve been spotted on Royston, headed towards Brierly. We’ve begun to engage and are currently sending reinforcements. There have already been reported casualties up to-“

She started sputtering, breaking into a harsh coughing fit.  _Surely I had heard him wrong_. Heart beating in her ears, her fists tensing and relaxing repeatedly; she felt like she couldn’t get enough oxygen.  _Casualties. Royston. Brierly. Brierly—_

“I need to go with you,” muttering, she was sure she had interrupted the Hellsing head in front of her, but the blood was pounding so loudly in her ears, and her adrenaline was pumping so unforgivingly through her veins, like the bass was up too high in a very small space. She shifted, antsy. “That’s where my house is. My family is there, on Brierly. My family— I need to go. We need to go. We need to,” she was adamant, struggling to control the volume of her voice.

The blond in front of her took a deep puff of her cigar, settling back and releasing the stream of smoke.

“Miss Saif. This is not child’s play. Lives are at a stake, and we cannot allow a civilian to go prancing about an active scene,” she asserted. Elisa stared hard, steeling herself.

“Sir Integral. I appreciate the pride you take in your work, but the only family I have left is on Brierly. That is my  **home** ,” she stressed. “Take me there. In the worst case, I die. In the best case, I make sure my family is still alive and you never have to hear from me again. In either case, your secret is safe, and you can continue on with your duty.”

There was a tense moment of silence, the women staring each other down, before the Hellsing head let out a deep sigh, “You’ll need a weapon.”

Elisa frowned cheeks tinged with warmth, and her voice immediately dropped as she coughed, "I'm sorry?" Embarrassment colored her voice. As helpful as her aids were, they weren't perfect, and she was so scattered in her sensibilities that something was inevitably going to get lost in translation.

"A weapon, Miss Saif," Sir Hellsing repeated, a little bit louder this time. Elisa shook her head sharply, a frown tugging at her pink cheeks. 

 “I’m afraid I-” She was cut off by the old butler, who cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“Sir, if I could suggest something. If she is to go into an active zone, her best chance is to accompany an expert. In fact, he’s just been dispatched,” he bowed his head slightly, speaking clearly. Elisa appreciated it, even if she shifted in discomfort on the thought of another unknown in the situation. Unknowns were dangerous.

Sir Intregral’s lip quirked, and she took another long drag, “You would expose her to such a beast? You’re cruel, Walter.” The butler smirked; between the two of them, they looked like they were sharing some sort of inside joke. Elisa wasn’t sure if she liked that. “Fine,” Sir Hellsing sighed, still smirking around her cigar, “it is ultimately up to you, Miss Saif. Do you believe that you can handle the Hell of the undead? The possibility of seeing your loved ones torn asunder and feasted upon like lambs in a slaughterhouse? What say you, Elisa Saif? Would you walk into Hell?”

Elisa did not blink. She did not shudder or break into tears or even twitch. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, but flashed with resolve under a thin sheen of pain.

“Sir Hellsing,” she began, slowly and deliberately. “With all due respect, I have already survived Hell.”

Sir Integral smirked, “I do hope you live through this, Miss Saif. I would very much appreciate getting you know you after this is all over. Walter, please escort Miss Saif to Brierly.”

 

* * *

 

She wished she hadn't gone. 

That loud, loud voice in her brain, the fight or flight of her hormones hollered at her painfully. There was a fine red mist floating in the air as she slid out of the black, unmarked car, leaving her bag in the back seat. She didn't need to guess what it was on the breeze.

The little house-made-flats, typically stacked and kept nice and suburban on any given day of the year, had holes in the walls, varying in sizes. She quietly made her way down the street, focused on getting to her house, the soldier who accompanied her yelling in protest and scrambling to follow her. 

The only thing she could focus on was the sound of dull thudding as her feet slapped against the concrete, and the slim, older house at the end of the block. 

Her home. 

There were large red stains on the pavement and in certain doorways, patchy watercolor artwork giving some semblance of an idea of what suffering had occurred. Elisa didn't linger, though, and foolish as it was, she forwent all caution when she heard the sharp cry of a child coming from the flat she was quickly approaching. Her head shot up like a dog hearing a doorbell as she zeroed in on the noise's direction, feet carrying her mindlessly. She panted, running through the dull brown and broken door, and immediately falling flat on her face, into a cool, thick puddle, face first. She let out a muted groan, wiping at her face and getting on her knees. Scrubbing at her eyes to clear her vision, she was about to turn her gaze to determine what had tripped her when a series of gunshots rang out from the upper floor, drawing her attention away.

She didn’t have time to argue with her brain, screaming at her that she had just dove into a pool of blood. Foolishly, she picked herself up and stumbled up towards the noise. She knew the scream, knew the source of the fear she could practically taste in the air. 

Mima. Her Little Dove. 

She stumbled up the stairs, drunk on adrenaline, jumping over the bodies lying in ruby red as she scrambled towards the room down the wooden floor and to the left. Her body on autopilot, she scooped up the automatic handgun on the ground—  _check the chamber, how many bullets do I have left, follow the methods mama has taught you, protect first and ask questions later, tighten your grasp to stop your hands from shaking—_ and found only one bullet left. One is better than none. Small stars and moons, arts and crafts projects made with the enthusiasm of an enthralled child, hung limp from the doorway, stained and lifeless. 

Elisa stumbled through the door frame, knees weak and heart jumping. She didn’t have to search at all, for the imposing, hellish figure in a red overcoat and fedora stood out mockingly in the dull moonlight streaming through the window, towering over the eight year old girl. 

A small gasp cut through the air, followed shortly a whimper. Elisa raised her arms, taking aim. She could just see the tuft of Mima’s hair at the figure’s waist.  _Good- his head is high enough, I won’t hit her._  

The cruel part of her adrenaline-fueled brain bristled, excited. She hadn’t held a firearm in a while, and she wanted to see this fucker’s face when he died, see him realize his life of murderous destruction was over. See him die at the hands of a weak, terrified woman. 

So, she whistled. Waited just a moment for the head to turn and- she pulled the trigger. 

Hit him right between the eyes, had him drop like a sack of potatoes.  _Mama would have smiled_. 

“Khtî!” She heard faintly, blood pounding through her ears as she dropped her empty firearm and rushed towards the wet-faced child. Gathering up the round-faced, freckled girl in her arms, after giving her a once over, Elisa squeezed her sister tight. She felt her her little hand dig into her arms before they both let go, beginning to sign to each other frantically. 

“We need to go,” Elisa’s hands flew through the signs. “I had one bullet in that gun, and there could be more dangerous people coming.”

“You shouldn’t have, Elisa. The man, he’s not a man. Those were not men,” Mima signed over her sister, large green eyes glistening with renewed tears. 

“I know they were scary, Mima,” Elisa began, before the girl slapped her hands abruptly. Elisa took in a shaky breath, blinking. Surprised. 

“They are no men, but monsters,” Mima asserted firmly, face set in a strangely serious expression.

Elisa’s eyebrows furrowed, concerned, confused, and reached to gather her sister up again, when she felt suddenly very light. Weightless even. 

She didn’t realize she had flown across the room until she was pinned solidly to the wall, the plaster cracking under her back. She lost her breath, dizzy and disoriented as she blinked slowly, lungs struggling to regain their function. The spots cleared from her vision as she heard a deep, purring voice pierce her mind, soothing over her nerves and clearer than anything she had heard in years. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” The distinctly male voice hummed in her ear, seeping in like honey through cracks in the wall, soothing over her traumatized tissue to surround her brain like a cloud. She looked up in time to catch the pale, red-clad man towering over her, his gloved hand around her throat and his face mending back together between his eyes. He grinned, wide and seemingly amused— _where have I seen this look before?_ —  while his other hand pressed his own weapon to her chest, right over her stuttering heart.

She watched as his aristocratic face tilted down, deep red eyes looking down on her with a morbid curiosity over orange tinted spectacles. He was, quiet literally, looking down at her, amused that she tried to kill him. She withheld a growl, just hoping this monster would stay focused on her, and allow her sister time to escape. 

“What? Is this little hellcat speechless now she has come nose to nose with a monster? Scared stiff now that you have to face me? Pathetic,” he mused, craning his neck down and loosening his grip on her throat. His cold, gloved hand slid up her jaw, fingers drawing across in what almost felt like a caress, sliding over her chin and cheek, dancing over the pale of her lips and opening her mouth, inspecting her teeth. He practically chortled, pulling her mouth this way and that, finger sliding over the dull points of her canines. “You’re just some fresh meat, aren’t you? You couldn’t even kill me if I were prostrated before you. Stupid human. Perhaps I’ll drain you first, have your last remaining family-”

Elisa never considered herself a patient or kind person. She often got frustrated and had a myriad of traumas that stacked up, lending her to a short fuse and an even shorter leash on her emotions most days. Today, she saw red. 

She bit down so hard she felt her teeth clack again each other painfully, the salty copper taste of blood exploding in her mouth, the rough texture of disconnected tissue strange in her mouth. 

She immediately spit out the digits and the added blood, straight back into his face, and grinned with blood stained teeth, baring her lack of fangs in the face of a monster with the countenance of a devil.

They paused, staring at each other. 

Then, a rumble of laughter that erupted into some maniacal, breathless cackle that sang into the night and was carried on the wind, the imposing figure in red releasing her, letting her slide down the wall to settle on the ground, dazed, as he doubled over, screaming with laughter. 

He stopped, immediately and abruptly bending down to be face to face with her. Large, sharpened teeth that reminded Elisa of a shark, revealed themselves as he grinned back at her.

“It seems my master right about you after all. You will be  _endlessly_ entertaining, won’t you?”


	3. Wrangle For an Ars' Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pacts never do start easy, do they? Usually, the parties involved will break down and end up wrangling for an ars' shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To wrangle for an ass' shadow: To argue over trivial matters; from the Greek legend where a traveler rents an ass and then argues with its owner when they both want to sit in its shadow to avoid the sun.
> 
>  
> 
> Not particularly happy with this chapter, but that's to be expected when you sit on it for a few weeks, just kind of looking at it.
> 
> Anyways. Hozier just put out a new EP.
> 
> Hit me up on comments/ tumblr 
> 
> postspamum.tumblr.com

Getting back to the mansion was both incredibly unsettling and amazingly seamless. She felt more than saw the impending red shadow falling over her form, practically smothering her in the air she was breathing. She kept Mima closer still, hand clutching hers and gathering her into her lap in the transport. They signed silently to each other, Mima’s small, soft hands flying frantically, a whine emitting from the back of her throat while Elisa soothed her quietly, hands motioning through the air in a rhythmic motion. 

“Where are they taking us?” Mima signed, eyes wet and terror notable. 

“We’re okay, zwina. You just focus on breathing, ok?” Elisa hummed low, nosing the girl’s hair and puffing air on her head. Letting the girl’s tresses blow wayward, Mima’s weak, watery giggle floated through the car and eased the tension in the air a bit. She waved her dark brown hand towards her older sister, lips easing into a tired smile. 

“ _Oh how sweet_ ,” a dark, masculine voice crooned over the older woman, causing her grip to intrinsically tighten on the precious cargo in her lap. She kept her gaze straight, jaw clenching. Elisa couldn’t help but wonder, though- his voice was much too clear for him to have said that aloud, and Mima seemed unperturbed. “ _Confused, human? Never been face to face with a real vampire, have you?_ ” She could hear the smug tone in whatever mode of communication he was utilizing. 

Elisa's nose threatened to wrinkle, but otherwise her countenance stayed flat. _Shall I call you Count, then?_  She thought the biting thought before catching herself, face scrunched, letting her fingers dance with her sister’s and tracing the henna that lined her skin. In return she felt a deep, rumbling chuckle that caressed her brain and ultimately... soothed her? 

That thought was the most disturbing of the evening. 

The rest of the ride was silent, but no less invasive. She felt like she had to carefully choose which thoughts she pursued, and even still, Elisa felt like she could feel the shadow-monster-man’s amusement, like she didn’t even have to look over to him to know that he was grinning madly, teeth bared in dark humor. 

“ _Don’t break a sweat on my account, hellcat,_ ” the smooth voice caressed her mind, the darkness coaxing, calling her to relax and let the spider devour its meal. She tensed, inching away.  He purred, delighted, “ _or should it be “kitten”?_ ” 

 _Are all vampires this obnoxious?_ Elisa’s face set into a blank slate with the scathing thought. Alucard's face split into a grin in her periphery, enthralled. He got a good one.

“ _Are all humans this charming nowadays?_ ” He hummed back, this odd "telepathy" seeming to put him at ease. She could see him lean back slightly, seeming to make himself comfortable, legs extending and crossing his ankle over his knee. He allowed his long, thin arms to rest on the back of the cushion of where the siblings sat. Elisa moved further away, continuing to gently hum aloud to the girl curled up in her lap. She then proceeded to make her hundredth bad decision of the evening- she glanced at the monster currently sharing the seat with her. 

Their eyes caught, her light green eyes catching on his own blood red, peeking over his orange spectacles. Then he showed her his razor-sharp teeth, and she felt- warm? And tired.

No, not tired. She felt exhausted. It was decidedly not normal, though, for her eyes to be this bleary, still locked on the supposed vampire next to her, her lids feeling heavier and heavier. She barely slept on a good day, staying up until the dawn and only resting for a handful of hours before getting back up. She was too high-strung, too constantly on guard to ever feel so appropriately sleepy. It was either a feeling of continuous anxiety or total inability to function until she got rest- never anything in the middle. A soft voice lulled her, beckoning to her from the back of her mind.  _Safe_ , it cooed.  _You are safe, and warm. You are mine. Rest, rest._

This warming, encompassing feeling was not one that Elisa had ever felt before. It felt so... wrong. False, like what it was offering was too good to be true and she knew it. But between the weight and warmth of her little sister in her lap, the quiet of the car, and the smoothness of the ride, she couldn’t fight the pull of sleep, curling around the small girl in her lap and letting her eyes sink closed.

 

When her eyes opened, she was in the streets of Marrakesh, the buildings sagging around her and the sky above as blue as ever. She could hear the street market a few streets over and could smell the mixture of fresh foods in the air. She was shorter, a child, she realized. And she was looking- or, more like, running. 

She couldn’t remember what she was looking for, but she felt like she was in the midst of a very intense game of a mix of hide and seek and an ominous sort of tag. She peeked in doorways, down gutters, in windows and under benches, all the while running down the streets, kicking up dirt into the thick, hungry darkness behind her. She could hear her own giggles float through the air around her, the heat thick and humid, lying over her skin like her mother’s woolen blanket. She could also hear, though, the answering feminine, childish cackles of the darkness behind her, its eyes beginning to pop open throughout the cloud trailing her, dark maws rolling open to produce sharp teeth and lolling tongues, saliva and blood mixing in a watercolor puddle wherever she went, and subsequently, wherever the darkness followed.  

As time continued on, the buildings looked less and less familiar, the city giving way to trees and greenery getting thicker and thicker, the streets transitioning from paved to dirt, and the air becoming cooler and less personable. Indifferent. Selfish. 

She continued to wander, this small child with long, curly black tresses, with a light smattering of freckles and light green eyes. Wandering further and further from home, the sky darkening overhead into a muddy mixture of soot and dirt until she found what she was looking for. Two large, oaken doors- the entrance to a castle. 

She didn’t even notice the darkness stop a few feet behind her when she did. Or that the numerous sharpened teeth bare in delight behind her. 

So, she knocked. 

There wasn’t much of a wait, the left door creaking open slowly, ominously. Just enough to let her little body through, then creaking closed on its own. 

The old darkness locked away, the new staring her in the face. 

This darkness was different, all-encompassing. Everywhere and nowhere and close to smothering but far from harming, Elisa slowly and cautiously picked through the winding hallways, tenderly following the walls and the smell of food. Her face was remarkably expressive, twisting in wonder and concern, eyes still bright and inquisitive. The light not yet burnt out. 

She eventually stumbled upon another closed doorway, this one showing lights peeking through its cracks, the smell of food strong. So she pushed- to no avail. The door didn’t budge. Her tiny arms shook and shivered under her exertion, eventually giving out as she panted, sliding down the door in exhaustion and frustration. She rubbed at her eyes, petulant, and took short, angry breaths, fighting back tears.

So there she sat, head in her hands, watery hiccups occasionally breaking through her chapped lips and trying to ignore the growing, angry gurgle of her stomach. 

A smooth, deep chuckle washed over her as she looked up, watery green eyes catching on the red of the tall figure in front of her. The walls were cracking, dust floating through the air and the hallway rapidly aging around them, the duo frozen in their respective forms. He, a tall, broad man with with a bushy brow and strikingly pale skin, red lips and wine-colored eyes. He stood with his hand out to her, palm up in supplication. 

“Are you lost, little one?” He rumbled politely, voice clear as a bell in her little ears. She sniffed and rubbed her teary face. 

“I am," Elisa nodded, eyes wet and wide as they took in the impending form before her. Eyes caught on his, flickering between his hand and his gaze. Unsure.

"If you would allow me the pleasure," his voice was a low hum, and her unharmed ears soaked it up, "what kind of host would I be if I did not feed, and shelter such an important guest? Surely you can spare a short while here, with me." The man's lip curled back in what Elisa supposed was his best attempt at warmth in a smile, revealing sharpened teeth. "It has been so, so long, and I find myself longing for companionship once more."

Elisa's head tilted, left. "Like... a friend?" she cautioned a guess, tentative. She swore she saw his eyes flash at the new flesh revealed in her inquisition. His snarl like smile only widened.

"Yes, my dear. A friend. A companion. Won't you stay with me?" the snake was poised for its strike. The mouse, young, terrified and blissfully unaware, allowed it closer.

Elisa paused, then gave a short, resolute nod, "Yes, but just for a short while. Okay?" Her hand lifted, slow and quivering, pausing before his own.

Those teeth grew implausibly more visible, a beacon of death. "Okay," he allowed a short huff of a laugh, fingers outstretched for hers.

As she placed her darker complexion against his, the world around her exploded in colors and sounds, emotions she couldn't name running through her at a speed that tore her senses from her and into a hurricane.

 

She awoke with a loud, sharp gasp, clutching Mima tighter and heart beating thunderously in her ears, along with- nothing. She could hear the ghosts of her past, the screams and cries of war, the chorus of voices in her head condemning, demanding, hungry. But nothing else- just left alone with her ghosts and her own damned, stubborn heart. She shook over her sister, attempting to regain a grasp on her own mind and body.

It was only seconds before she felt her sister's little hands soothing down her hair and cheeks. Glancing up sharply, they made eye contact, and Mima motioned down, with a watery smile, to the hearing aids in her lap. Elisa choked out a wet laugh, and held her sister tighter still. 

They sat in a tight embrace for the rest of the ride, red eyes forgotten, impending consumption forgotten, just to her left, just for now.


	4. Bet Your Ars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You Bet Your Ars that this is a bad idea, for all parties involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet your ass: slang for "absolutely."
> 
> Aka "you can bet ur ass I just want to write porn but am also a slut for slow-burns."
> 
> Aaka thank you for everyone who has commented so far. I know it's only a handful, and most of it is just a simple sentence of feedback, but I absolutely adore each and every comment. Thank you for leaving some love <3

Strange things had happened between the transport and where Elisa now sat, on a too-soft bed with too-silky sheets with her her too-skinny sister curled up behind her, snoring away. Elisa took a deep drag from the joint of kif between her fingers and held her breath for a moment. Her head had been swimming for hours and the hash she was inhaling did the trick, as per usual. 

In the past hours, before the sun had started its trek into the sky, Sir Integra (as Elisa had been corrected, many times) had invited the two to... “dinner.” She had explained that they could not go back to their life, as their home was now a crime scene, and they would surely be charged if they returned. Additionally, Sir Integra had told the older woman across from her at the table that one of her most reliable agents had “highly suggested” that they retain the sisters, having “witnessed her finesse with a gun.” 

Elisa, in return, staunchly refused, fiddling with her hearing aids. 

“I don’t  _kill_ , Sir,” she said sternly, eyes locked on the blonde. If Elisa didn’t know better, she thought she saw a bit of sweat on her counterpart’s brow. She bit back a smile at that- her mom voice was a force to be reckoned with. 

“Well, what do you suggest, then?” She shifted her weight minutely. Elisa bit harder at that smile- she enjoyed ruffling Sir Integra’s feathers while she could. Lord knows that she would be a force of nature after some years of experience. 

“If I may, Sir,” the Butler had stepped up from behind. Walter was his name, Mima had signed. “While with your parents in the Middle East, you were acting as a translator, is that correct?”

Elisa’s hands tightened to fists and she immediately took out the electronics in her ears, heaving a great sigh and massaging her temples harshly. The man- Walter- continued, unperturbed, “I believe she could be of use in such a capacity, Sir. She could be an unassuming presence in the room- no offense, Miss Saif.” Her lips slowly tugged into a deep frown, regardless of if she could hear what he was saying or not, the stress of the day breaking cracks in her countenance, and all was quiet for a moment. 

Then-

“Yes,” Mima spoke up from next to her legally deaf sister. “We will earn our keep!”

Mima, ever the clever girl, did not inform her sister as to what she had signed her up for until later in the evening. 

Needless to say, Elisa was not gentle when brushing her little sister’s hair. 

So now, here she sat, indebted to a secret government operation for saving her and her sister’s lives. They had also been informed as to what this organization stood for-  _monster slaying, they had said_ \- and how her help would help save countless British lives. 

She was uncomfortable. 

Debt was not something she enjoyed experiencing. Neither was being left out of a conversation about her own future. Her sister was smart, though- she knew Elisa would have refused initially. After a very rushed and overall aggressive silent argument between the two, in which ended with both of the girls’ hands and arms being sore, they ended up curled together on the large, plush bed. 

Alas, as her sister rested, here she was, window cracked open and clouds of exhaled hash floating through the dark and into the rising light.  Her mind was thankfully clearing with each puff, her inhibitions lowering and allowing the walls to peel away. Her eyes brightened, muscles relaxing, and breaths leaving her lungs slowly, soothingly. She felt, comparably, human. 

Unfortunately, that is not always a good thing. 

As is expected of humans, and has been for centuries, they are of a curious mind and often stick their noses where they shouldn’t. Elisa know countless cautionary tales about folly and curiosity, and had recited them to her younger sister ad nauseum. She tucked the blankets around her darker kin, brushing the hair from her face, and smiled warmly. Alas, her mind was allowed to wander, and the young woman stood, slowly, stretched, languid, and made her silent way through the halls of the mansion, closing the door behind her. 

To be honest, now that her sympathetic nervous system was settled, she couldn’t get that man- the monster’s- voice out of her head. She couldn’t lie to herself, it was the first clear voice she had heard in many, many years. Just about ten, really. Just enough to drive someone to do something stupid- say, follow the siren's song without a thought, trek down into the basement because of a whim and "pure coincidence." Because a little voice in her brain was telling her where to go, and she was just foolish- and high- enough to listen to it. 

Stupid, really. 

Stupider yet, she somewhat came back to her senses when she found herself outside of a thick, iron door, with what seemed like faded runes resting under thick layers of dust and grime, in the midst of a dark, silent hallway. Elisa wasn’t a fan of watching horror movies, and now she was in one. 

She flexed her hands at her sides, tensing and relaxing, before raising her hand to knock. 

The door opened. 

It was a slow, non threatening screech of hinges that somehow sounded more ominous than it should have. There was infinite darkness in front her, all the way down to the singular throne-like chair seated at the back of the cinderblock tomb. Two candles flickered to life, gently and calmly, illuminating the red clad demon lounging on his throne. He held a wine glass aloft, an arm sweeping out in a muted gesture. 

“Well, well, well,” he purred out slowly, grin wide, baring shark teeth. “The kitten comes t-“

“Why?” Elisa demanded. He paused, head tilting. There was a fat pause. “I didn’t ask you to vouch for me,” she continued after garnering his attention, “First you  _assault_ me in my own _home_ , then you rope me into this- this  _bullshit_.” The words rushed from her lips as her hands continued to rhythmically clench and unclench; she wasn’t used to not communicating with her hands. At least, not recently. She was so taken with her sudden rage and discomfort that she truly didn’t notice him  replace his wine glass upon his throne-side table, crook a long, gloved finger towards her, and have her feet obey in kind. They led her to stop mere feet from the monster, an amused expression obvious on his face at her confused one.

Elisa wasn’t backing down, though. Her shoulders rolled back, frown firm and chin held high, she stared down the vampire. 

“And you don’t even offer me a seat,” She snarked, “what kind of host are you?”

Apparently, that was the final straw for the demon before her, amused giggled tittering from his horror-filled mouth. 

“Do you forget,  _girl_ , that I  _saved_ your sister and exercised immense control to not simply  _slay_ you in our moment of meeting?” He mused, leaning forward to intimidate. “Regardless, what idiotic notion came upon you to have you believe that  _I_  would ever vouch for  _you_?”

She leaned in to meet his challenging gaze. “You’re the only one within this organization who has seen me handle a firearm,” she intoned, face flat. “And you’re in my brain. You’re the first voice I’ve heard in  _years_.”

His eyebrow twitched at the truth as he relaxed back, folding his hands on his abdomen. His easy grin lit his face again as the dungeon went quiet. It took all of Elisa to not fidget as she clung to the  ease in her muscle from her earlier indulgence in certain greenery, allowing her shoulders to drop ever so slightly.

“Will I get answers from you?” She asked softly, gaze far-off. 

He paused, “Perhaps. But what will you give me for them?”

She frowned immediately, “What could I possibly have that a  _demon_ such as yourself could want?”

They simply stared at each other until the same dizzying feeling took over Elisa’s senses as they had earlier in the day, her world shifting as her back hit the cold stone wall and his immense height boxing her in, casting terrifying shadows across his sharpened features. His nose skimmed right above her pale brown neck as he breathed in and let out what she could only call a moan. 

“Your  _blood_ , your  _life_...” he purred, following the slope of her neck down, down, until his breath hit uneven skin. He could feel her fight not to flinch under his breath as his gaze swept over the marred skin of her shoulder, previously covered by her sweater. His eyes lit up as he leaned back, grin wider than before. “No, no, it seems as if you’ve already given that,” he snapped his fingers, eyes alight, as if a light bulb had just gone off. His expression took a turn for the more self-satisfied. “That’s it. I want your  _struggles_. Your  _humanity_ ,” his grin turned predatory, “I want answers, Elisa Saif.”

**Author's Note:**

> postspamum.tumblr.com
> 
> Let's be real I watched and read Hellsing back when it came out and the only reason my lazy ass is writing this is because it's still my favorite anime/manga and I'm a garbage person


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